by Keith Nixon
“Funny that, because Carslake said exactly the same to me," Gray said. "If you go, I get a promotion.”
“And?”
“I said I’d think about it.” Gray smiled, then he began to laugh. Hamson joined in.
“Oh my God,” said Hamson after half a minute. “I needed that. It feels like an age since I last enjoyed myself.”
“I don’t believe Carslake anyway,” said Gray. “I’m just a pawn. You’ve become a problem somehow and he wants rid of you, via me.”
“What are you going to do when he comes asking? Because he’s bound to.”
“Tell him no.”
“I need another cigarette.”
Back on the balcony, while Hamson was sparking up, Gray said, “I’ve got a theory. Us not getting on plays into Carslake’s hands. It’s a divide-and-rule tactic. We have to keep up the play-act, which means you carry on pretending to be pissed off with me.”
“That won’t be too hard.
“I also think Carslake’s throwing me under a bus with the IPCC. And Smits came clean, he told me the investigation doesn’t centre on me, but Carslake.”
“This is crazy.” Hamson held her head in her hands. “Why?”
“Wish I knew. I need you to keep me up to date with what’s happening at the station.”
Hamson sat upright, nodded. “Of course.”
“Are you going to see Mike?”
“I think I will.”
Thirty Six
Then
When Gray reached the interrogation room, he was aware his clothes reeked of cigarettes. Copeland glanced at him; his nose wrinkled. The five of them returned to the same seats. The room remained sweltering. Dowling appeared to be suffering the heat too, his face flushed. Copeland re-started the recording.
“Let’s summarise, Mr Usher. We have proof of your presence at the crime scene.”
“That doesn’t make my client a murderer, Inspector,” interrupted Dowling.
“Rufus,” said Usher, “let the man speak.”
“You had free access to the house, no witnesses to your whereabouts at the time of your wife’s murder, and your DNA under her fingernails. And there’s the witness statement from Craig Mundby that he was invited by you into Mrs Usher’s house, placing you firmly at the scene.”
Dowling had one arm of his glasses in his mouth, chewing on them.
“As I’m sure Rufus is aware, when we take a case to the CPS for review, they look at the strength of the evidence. In your case we tick all the boxes, several times. Means, motive, and opportunity. Duncan Usher, I’m arresting you for the murder of Valerie Usher, for the attempted murder of Craig Mundby, and for attempting to pervert the course of justice. Anything you say can and will be used in evidence against you in a court of law. Do you understand these charges?”
“Loud and clear, Inspector.”
“Take him away, Sol.”
***
Later that evening, when Usher and his men had been processed, Copeland threw an impromptu celebration in the Britannia pub next door to the station. It was crammed with officers of the law. At the centre of it all was Copeland, basking in the praise and buying the beer.
Gray accepted a pint, simply because Copeland was paying, but stayed distant from the melee of self-congratulation and sycophantic adulation. Carslake found Gray in a corner at a table by himself facing the wall.
Carslake sat down. “You look like someone’s pissed in your glass.”
“You might be right. I don’t have the best of tastes in my mouth, Jeff.”
“As I said to you earlier, Sol, ride the Copeland wave. He’ll be gone soon. We’re just a stepping stone.”
“The sooner the better.” Gray pushed his half-drunk pint away. “Has McGavin turned up?”
“His lawyer says he’s gone away on holiday. A last-minute booking.”
“Convenient.”
“Nothing deemed incriminating was found at his house, so he’s in the clear.”
“McGavin’s not stupid. I’d have been amazed if he’d leave anything casually lying around.”
“It’s been known to happen.”
Gray stood. “I’m going to head home. Kate and I need to talk. It’s been a busy few days, and I’ve barely seen my family. I’d rather be with them than getting drunk with him.”
“I don’t blame you.”
As Gray walked out, Copeland caught his eye and raised a glass. Gray didn’t bother to respond.
Thirty Seven
Now
Gray’s phone bleeped. A text from Pennance asking Gray to call him back. He did so.
“I’ve found the Mundbys,” said Pennance.
“Great, where?”
“They’re in Rhosneigr, a small coastal village on Anglesey, it’s an island just off the north Welsh coast.”
“I know where Anglesey is.”
“And they’re living under a new name – Pitts, her maiden name. It’s why I took so long to find them.”
“When did they move?”
“Not long after Usher was sentenced.”
Gray checked the location via the map app on his phone. “They’ve moved to the middle of nowhere.”
“That’s what I thought. I’ll send you the details. Molly would prefer to talk via Skype. Can you do that?”
“I reckon I can just about manage.”
“I strongly suggest you don’t screw this up, Sol. I had to use all my powers of persuasion to get Molly to this point.”
“Thanks for the advice, Marcus, I usually go around attempting to make every mistake I can.”
Gray and Pennance said their goodbyes and disconnected. His mobile beeped with a text outlining Molly’s details. Gray saw the time Molly suggested, which was before his shift started in the morning.
***
Gray rose with the alarm, went into the bathroom, and splashed some water over his face in an effort to wake himself up properly. He started up his laptop.
He’d sent Molly a request to share contact details through Skype prior to heading to bed. He opened up the software. Molly had responded. Gray checked his watch. Only a couple of minutes to go.
At 6 a.m. Gray dialled. It rang but wasn’t picked up. He hoped she hadn’t changed her mind. He tried again at five past. Nothing. The moments ticked by. Gray, starting to worry, sent her a quick instant message saying he was online and waiting. At sixteen minutes past, Skype woke up. A video call was coming in.
Gray hadn’t seen Molly since Usher’s court case. She’d aged of course; her hair had turned entirely grey. She was tanned. Deep lines cut into her face. They appeared to be caused by worry rather than laughter if the downturn of Molly’s lips were anything to go by. Molly’s mouth was moving, but Gray couldn’t hear her. He switched on the speaker.
“… can’t see you,” said Molly. “Start your camera up.”
“Okay, just a second.”
Gray found the icon and clicked.
“That’s more like it. Sorry I’m late, I was making sure Craig was still asleep.” Molly’s tone wasn’t particularly apologetic.
“Thanks for agreeing to speak with me.”
“Your friend strongly suggested I should.”
Gray wondered what lever Pennance had pulled; he didn’t need to know.
“How’s Craig?”
“He’s fine. That’s why I wanted to speak early so he doesn’t overhear and isn’t reminded of the past. We’ve worked hard to forget. And there you are.”
“You’re aware Duncan Usher has been released?”
A flicker crossed Molly’s face. Gray thought it was anxiety. “Your colleague told me. It hasn’t made the news here. I never thought I’d see the day. Life without parole, they said.” Molly uttered a sharp laugh, devoid of humour.
“What about James?”
“He’s probably in bed. He didn’t want to leave Thanet so I left him.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Don’t be.” Molly waved Gray’s conc
ern away. “It was hard at the time, but I guess all those people’s predictions about us not lasting were true after all.”
“Why Anglesey?”
“We fancied a change.” The sarcasm was obvious.
“Buying a new shirt is a change, moving to the other side of the world is significant.” Gray tried to dig. “You moved to get as far away from him as possible.”
“Not quite, Sergeant. We wanted to get as far away from everything as possible.”
“I don’t blame you.”
“Got yourself involved in a life-threatening situation with a major criminal recently have you?”
“Not for a while.”
“Then you won’t know what it’s like.” Molly turned her face away from the camera and squeezed her eyes shut. “It took Craig months to recover physically, but up here.” She faced forward again and tapped her temple. “He’s never been like he used to be. He still has the scars on his wrist as a reminder of that day. Even going to the other side of the world, as you said, can’t get Craig away from what’s in his head and on his body. I always liked the idea of living in the middle of nowhere, and Craig nearly dying made me realise we should get on with it while we could.”
“How’s it been?”
“Tough at first, then things improved as we settled, hard again when I left James but the last few years have been pretty good. I’ve met someone else who gets on great with Craig, and I’ve got a decent job at a local school. I just hope all of this with Usher resurfacing doesn’t knock my life off track again. I don’t think I can go through that kind of upheaval once more.”
“There’s an investigation underway over here, into Usher’s arrest and conviction. It possibly wasn’t him who attacked Craig.”
“So who was it?”
“That’s why I wanted to speak with you. I’m trying to find out.”
“If I help, will we get left alone?”
“Maybe, though I couldn’t say for sure.”
“I’ve had a man called Smits trying to get hold of me.”
“He’s a senior investigator examining the case.”
“So it’s being taken seriously then?”
“Yes, very.”
A flicker of something crossed Molly’s face.
“What is it, Molly?”
She shook her head. “I don’t want any trouble for Craig. He’s still fragile.”
“I may be able to help.”
“How?”
“I’ll talk to Smits for you. But you need to be straight with me.”
“Craig admitted he might have got something wrong.”
“Wrong about what?”
Molly paused, Gray held his tongue until she said, “The man who called him inside, it wasn’t Duncan Usher.”
“Who then?”
“He doesn’t know. It was dark. The lights were off.” Gray wanted to swear. “But he’s certain it wasn’t Usher.”
“Why didn’t he say so at the time?”
“He couldn’t. When Craig was hanging around on the street he saw someone go into Valerie’s house on more than one occasion. Including the night she was murdered.”
“Who?”
“That’s why he couldn’t say. He was threatened with prison if he spoke up.”
“Who, Molly?”
“Sergeant Carslake.”
After Molly had gone, Gray sat staring out to sea for some time, seeing nothing, realising everything.
He picked up his mobile and dialled Usher. “I know who set you up.”
Thirty Eight
Then
The trial had been underway for ten long weeks, but finally, it was judgement day. Literally. From the outset, Usher pleaded not guilty to the accusation of murder, attempted murder, and perverting the course of justice. Two days ago, the case had been summed up by both prosecution and defence. Before sending the jury away to a hotel room for deliberation, Judge Hewish stated she would accept a majority verdict.
The media scrutiny had proven intense, the crime generating huge public interest. Newspaper sales climbed on the back of the story of a crime boss turned wife killer. Usher was vilified in the papers, a heartless murderer who’d also attempted to slaughter and frame an innocent young man who’d been left physically and emotionally scarred for life as a result. In their eyes, Usher was guilty before he’d even been tried. Consequentially, finding an unbiased jury was difficult. And front and centre throughout stood Detective Inspector Copeland. He was the hero, the tough guy who’d brought a swift resolution to such a brutal case with his no-nonsense style.
When it was Gray’s turn on the stand, he’d given evidence over a full day, cross examined by both sides. It was his debut and it proved stressful. The case against Usher had been solidly built by Copeland and supported by the Crime Prosecution Service.
Now, Gray was seated towards the rear of the packed-out public gallery. Copeland and Carslake had front-row seats, either side of Eva Franklin. Valerie’s children were not in court to hear judgement – as had been the case throughout the trial. Defence and prosecution were in their places; Usher too, Dowling, beside him.
The jury filed in, followed a few moments later by Judge Hewish garbed in her formal gowns and wig. When Hewish was in her high-backed seat, she turned and said, “Foreman of the jury, have you come to a decision?”
The foreman, a shaven headed, tattooed man rose. “We have, your honour.”
“And is a majority in favour?”
“We are, your honour.”
“Against the charge of attempted murder, how do you find the accused?”
The room was deathly quiet. Eva gripped Copeland’s arm.
“Guilty.”
“And against the charge of murder, how do you find the accused?”
“Guilty.”
There were loud gasps in the court. Eva Franklin sagged; seemingly relieved justice was done for her daughter. Usher didn’t react.
“The court will reconvene in five days’ time,” said Hewish, “when a sentence will be handed down.” The judge rose and made her way out. Usher was quietly led away.
The court burst into discussion. Eva hugged Copeland, then Carslake before the trio filed out. Doubtless there would be another media scrum on the court’s front steps for Copeland. Gray couldn’t face it.
***
Later in the evening, Gray was in his London first-floor hotel room, fixing his tie before a mirror in the harshly lit bathroom. He would rather be doing anything other than going for a celebratory dinner with Copeland, even if the restaurant was Michelin-starred and someone else was paying. But as Carslake kept telling him, the boss was the boss.
Earlier, Gray had caught Copeland’s interview on the television immediately after Usher had been found guilty, Eva Franklin by his side.
At the last possible moment, Gray headed downstairs, out through the lobby and onto the pavement. He was staying just along from Marble Arch, the hum of traffic constant and the tang of diesel fumes in the spring air. Gray headed in the direction of the monument. The restaurant, Icelandic in theme and fish the main ingredient, lay beyond the arch on a back street, away from the hubbub of vehicles. It took Gray a couple of minutes to walk there. He didn’t rush.
The maître d’ took Gray’s coat before showing him to their table which was located towards the rear and beside the kitchen; glass-fronted so the diners could observe the chefs at work.
“I was beginning to believe you’d got lost.” Copeland, already seated, was well dressed in a three-piece suit. Gray was perfectly on time.
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world, sir,” lied Gray.
“Jeff’s just in the bathroom, powdering his nose. Ah, here he is now.” Carslake sat down, said hello to Gray. “I took the liberty of ordering us a bottle of wine. I assume you’re both okay with Sancerre.” Copeland spoke in a way which indicated Carslake and Gray would be all right with it regardless.
“Yes, sir,” said Carslake, adjusting his tie.
“F
irst name terms only tonight, Jeff, please. This is a celebration! Me and my boys together, we cracked the case. So this is to us.” Copeland raised his moisture dappled glass. They clinked.
The chilled wine was rich and deep. Gray didn’t want to like the wine because Copeland had ordered it, but it was excellent. He was handed a menu and took a few minutes to make a selection. He held back from ordering the most expensive item just for the hell of it when the waiter returned. However, even the cheaper dishes were a significantly higher price than anything he’d find in a Thanet restaurant.
“Good choices,” said Copeland to Gray after he’d selected.
Gray was surprised that during the meal Copeland kept the conversation away from the Usher case and himself. He was good company, with plenty of stories and anecdotes. Gray found himself warming to the man. The food was superb, and the trio went through several bottles. They finished with dessert and an accompanying sweet wine before Copeland ordered them all espressos and a decent cognac.
“How was that?” asked Copeland.
“I really enjoyed it, sir. Sorry, Terry. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” The waiter delivered the coffee and digestive. Gray sipped the espresso, getting a jolt as the caffeine kicked in, adding to the warm feeling in his stomach. Copeland nipped at the brandy.
“Between us, I understand the judge is going to hand down the maximum sentence to Usher: life without parole. And they’re going to seize his assets. Usher will be a broken man. It’s all worked out rather well.”
“So it seems,” said Carslake.
“Don’t think this is the last time we’ll be sitting together and celebrating, gentlemen. I predict we’ll crack plenty more cases together, us three. We’re a team. Frankly, I wasn’t sure about you at first, Sol, but you proved me wrong. You knuckled down, did as I asked, when I asked it. That’s what I need in my people.”
Copeland planted a hand on Gray’s shoulder. “Jeff told me to stick with you, and he was right.” Copeland raised his glass to Carslake who responded in kind. “Would your family consider a relocation, Sol?”